A/N: Whew, I'm going to be busy for these couple of weeks. If I miss a week of posting due to real life stuff, please understand! I'm starting university really soon and it's a completely new thing for me so life's going to be pretty hectic for a while.

Savannah White: Erik probably has something up his sleeve hehe.

Masked Man 2: Sorelli's just a sweet harmless thing, but isn't it just like her to say something like that? Hahaha. To be honest, I'm still working out iffy details as to what Erik's planning, but I hope it works out (for both him and me!)

Pineapple3000: Ooh, really? Hehe thank you!

Mikazuki Okami: Buquet will definitely get what he deserves! (And soon, too!) I know, Erik's really good at those pep talks but he definitely needs some for himself. Raoul will definitely get less airtime compared to Amelie, but he will be around quite a lot, so bear with him! Erik plays Music of the Night for Christine, but definitely without the original intentions he had while playing it for Amelie. And you're welcome, I actually like reading and replying to reviews. I didn't base the music box song off any song, but Kevin Kern has some really gorgeous songs (The Enchanted Garden) that makes me think that Erik's music would be something similar too. While I was playing his songs on the piano, I felt that they were magical.

AngelofPhanFics831: Aww thank you! I wish I could post faster too, but I can only write that fast, sadly. ):

Lydia the tygeropean: Gold-digger seems a bit extreme! Lets just say that Sorelli knows what she wants in life (; Hmm, to put it simply, Leroux's Erik seems a little too much like a psychopath, and I find it difficult that he could ever integrate himself into a normal lifestyle, but I want that for the Erik in my story, so I chose not to include too many Leroux characteristics.

Nikki1991: Meg's a good friend to Christine! Haha I loved La Sorelli's small appearance in that chapter, too.

phantom girl: I post every Monday (: I'm glad you like the story!

Meglit: Thank you very much! It makes me really happy to know people enjoy the story. I update every Monday.

Phantom's Lil Miss: Erik has no idea that Amelie knows that he was her mysterious friend in the past! And thank you for liking the story!

Wild Concerto: Sorelli seems qualified enough to give dating advice, hahaha. And thank you so much, really! All your support keeps me writing, I really appreciate it xx

Guest: I just did! (: Check back every Monday.

PaigePhan24601: Thank you very much! Amelie has realized it, but Erik doesn't know that she found out already. Hmm I don't really picture Erik as anybody, really, he's just Erik in my mind. I know a lot of people ask about that, but when I write, I don't really have an image of what Erik looks like, just some general guidelines, like tall, skinny, etc.

Thank you very much, CatchingRainbows, Meglit, Phantom's Lil Miss, and Ieatplants for the favs/follows, they are very appreciated!

Now on with the story! This week introduces one of my favourite characters that always appear in my favourite phanphics so I had to bring him in.

Chapter 36: Enter the Persian

Paris, 1896

Amélie leaned against the doorframe of the employee's entrance, her breath puffing out in cold wisps around her face, as she turned her face toward the dying sunlight, eager to catch more of the warmth of the sun's fading beams of light before they disappeared completely. The opera house was in an uproar over Christine's disappearance and sudden reappearance, especially since she staunchly refused to tell anybody what had happened—it was in an uproar most of the time now that Christine Daae had sung on the stage of the Palais Garnier in the role of prima donna.

The managers were befuddled at the situation, and furious over the mysterious spectre who was making demands for his salary, and the unreasonable order to cast Christine as the Countess in Il Muto. They were rattling poor Madame Giry with all their question and accusations about her being an accomplice to the madman who was sending them the letters –though in reality she was his accomplice – and were steadily refusing to accede to the Opera Ghost. The Vicomte de Chagny spent every waking moment pacing the Palais Garnier, thundering about the Opera Ghost and the incident of Christine's disappearance, and demanding that the opera house hand the ghost over, his mind mired in some crazy kidnapping plot despite Christine's insistence that she had left quite willingly with her teacher, not some sort of ghost. And Carlotta herself was only adding to all the troubles, now that she had decided she did not like the idea of a mere ballet rat taking her position as prima donna. Even now she was sitting in the prima donna's room, fanning herself with her exquisite paper fans and complaining about the slut who had taken her place.

Amélie let out a long, slow, breath. So much had happened in the past few weeks.

A movement in the alley made her look up sharply; the memory of Buquet's attack was still fresh within her mind and she did not wish for there to be a repeat of the incident. But it was not Buquet.

It was him again, that strange man she had seen the night of Christine's debut, dressed in his strange robes, with his arresting green eyes.

The man looked as her, as though he were contemplating something, and then he walked up to her. Her first instinct was to back off, but she sensed no menace in this man.

He held up his hands to imply that he came in peace. "Good day, mademoiselle. I mean you no harm." His voice was thickly accented with the tones of the language from a far off place, but he spoke French well.

Amélie tilted her head curiously. "May I help you, monsieur?"

"I wish only to ask some questions, and it is my hope that you may answer them for me."

Amélie inclined her head slowly. "I will help you as much as I can, monsieur. What is it that you wish to ask?"

The stranger stared at her for a few moments, as though he were assessing her with those strange green eyes of his. It felt as though his eyes were piercing through to her very soul, reading her innermost thoughts. His eyes reminded her of Erik's, she thought suddenly. They had the same inquisitiveness, the same piercing stare, and the same cleverness hidden within their depths. But Erik's eyes were a wholly different shade of dark green, its depths often filled with tenderness and genius.

"Mademoiselle, do you know the Opera Ghost?"

Amélie sputtered for a few moments. "What? What do you speak of, monsieur? Me, knowing the Opera Ghost? Indeed, what nonsense you speak! I do not know the Opera Ghost! In fact, I do not think anybody knows him at all."

She realized that she was stumbling over her words, rambling in a most unbecoming and suspicious manner, and abruptly stopped. The stranger raised an eyebrow and chuckled.

"You must have misunderstood me, mademoiselle. I meant only to ask if you knew about the Opera Ghost. You seem to be an employee of this opera house, are you not? I was merely curious about this phenomenon of the mysterious phantom."

Amélie visibly relaxed. He could be simply a nosey reporter for one of those foreign papers, but it would not to do for me to let down too much of my guard. I cannot reveal anything that could possibly harm Erik.

"The Opera Ghost has inhabited this opera house for many years, monsieur. He is a myth made up by the employees to explain the occurrences within the opera house, such as falling backdrops or missing items. The theatre folk are superstitious people, as you might know. It's easier to blame accidents on a non-existent spectre than to point fingers at drunk stagehands." She tried to make the situation as trivial as possible, in order to take the attention off Erik. It would not do to have too many people interested in the affairs of the Opera Ghost; it put him at risk of discovery. "And even if he really did exist, monsieur, he is but a harmless ghost. A few silly pranks never hurt anyone, and keeps life in the opera house interesting, if anything.

The stranger looked unconvinced. "A myth, you say? A non-existent spectre? Harmless? And yet there have been reports in all of today's newspapers, gossip about how the Opera Ghost spirited away the star of last night's performance. Would a non-existent ghost be able to do that? He could have certainly harmed the girl."

No! Amélie screamed in her mind. My Erik would never harm his beloved student. She forced herself to stay calm. "As you said, monsieur, it was gossip. The Opera Ghost that has haunted this place has never shown signs of violence before in the many years that he was here, and I believe he is not capable of harming an innocent and vulnerable girl."

She turned to leave. "I hope I have answered all your questions. But monsieur, a word of caution—some things are better left undiscovered." She entered the opera house, and shut the door behind her.

Amélie did not see the stranger stand there, quietly, for a long time, before he disappeared into the shadows quickly, taking up position like a sentinel, behind a nearby wall. She did not see him wait, quietly and patiently, without a single sound, until he saw a dark figure emerge from a secret passageway in a drain, lifting off the cover of the sewer opening and brushing off its cloak in quick, precise motions. She did not see him softly walk over to the sewer opening after the figure had disappeared into the night, melding into the shadows, and she did not see the stranger bend over the sewer opening, running his fingers over it inquisitively.

XXXXX

The fire burned brightly in the fireplace, casting glimmers of light through the room. Amélie stretched a little, wincing at the ache that spread through her muscles and rearranged the blanket she had spread across her lap to keep the chills away. As she relaxed again, she glanced at Erik, who was sitting in a chair adjacent to hers, his eyes roving over the page of the book he was staring at. She smiled, observing his strong jaw, and the sweep of his lashes over his face as he blinked. Times like these were rare; Erik was busy with teaching Christine, composing his opera, and terrorizing the opera house.

At times, Amélie felt helpless. She did not know of any way that she could help him in his plans, and he staunchly refused to let her become too involved, for fear of endangering her.

"Erik, I want to help! I do not want to sit aside while you and Madame Giry are putting yourselves in danger." She had said that to him once before.

He had merely fixed her with a piercing stare. "Having you sit by me quietly in my house, reading and talking, just like we have always done before, is as much of a help as Antoinette is to me, Amélie. Having you nearby makes me relax, and brings joy to my otherwise dank and dull life," he had said then. And what could Amélie do then, since he had already said he wished for her to simply sit by him companionably? She tried to relieve his stress by bringing him his favourite sweets, and sneaking him pieces of gossip she heard from the ballet rats about the managers, but that was all she could do.

She was about to return her attentions to the book in her lap, when the sharp shrill of a bell rang through the house, and Erik leapt up agilely. She looked at him questioningly, knowing that the bell signaled the approach of an unwelcome visitor who had somehow managed to make their way through the labyrinth of passageways within the opera house. He raised a finger to his lips, gesturing for her to be quiet, and waving her in the direction of one of the spare bedrooms.

"Stay in there just in case somebody manages to enter," he mouthed silently, shifting himself behind the divan, his fingers delving within his pockets for his Punjab lasso. Amélie backed slowly into the room, leaving the door open just a sliver so that she could see what was going on.

It did not take long before footsteps sounded just outside one of the doorways to Erik's house. Amélie pressed herself against the door, not daring to breathe. If the person was an intruder, he would most likely face a certain death at Erik's hands, she was sure of it. Amélie did not want to witness the unlucky soul's demise, but even more so, she did not want any blood on Erik's hands. Her gaze darted to Erik, who remained crouched behind the divan, perfectly silent, his shoulders tense and his lasso coiling around his fingertips like a beloved pet. His face was an angry frown, as though he could not comprehend how an intruder could have made its way all the way down. Erik's secret passages were very well guarded, with mechanisms that were most often than not completely invisible to the naked eye. Erik knew them all by heart, knew which place exactly to press to trigger them, but a normal person would never have been able to discover them all. Amélie herself had a pleasant surprise every time Erik demonstrated to her a new mechanism that she had never before noticed. Who is this intruder and how did he manage to get all the way down here?

She knew Erik was waiting for the footsteps to echo away, before he would make his way out into the passageway to determine who the intruder was.

She knew he had not been expecting there to be a clicking sound, and had not been expecting the door of the secret passageway to swing open easily, as though the intruder knew exactly how to open it.

She herself had not expected the intruder to be the stranger who had talked to her a few days earlier, on the steps of the opera house. He stepped in through the passageway, brushing dirt off his strange robes, a lantern in one hand. Amélie clapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from shrieking in surprise. Her eyes flew toward Erik, who she realized had tensed completely, the half of his face showing surprise.

The stranger looked around the place, and called out. "I know you are in here, Erik; I saw the light from the dark tunnel. Will you not greet me?"

Amélie's eyes widened. What? He… knows Erik? This was surprise after surprise.

When Erik remained silent, his body tight and clenched, the stranger made a clucking sound with his tongue. "Come now, Erik. I fully expect you to be hiding somewhere, perhaps behind that sofa," here he gestured to the divan, "with that lasso of yours coiled around your fingers. I intend to leave this place alive, so you might as well keep the Punjab and face me."

Amélie gaped as Erik sighed, placing the lasso back within his pockets, before standing to reveal himself. His face was now expressionless, and Amélie could not tell if the stranger was a friend or foe.

"We meet again, daroga." Erik's voice was clipped, yet uncertain.

"You do not seem happy to see me, Erik." The stranger, the daroga, commented conversationally. "I for one, am happy to see you again, Erik. How long has it been—almost five years?"

"You're alive." Erik's voice was one of wonder now. "Daroga, you are alive."

The man smirked. "As are you, Erik."

And with that, the man swept forward to grasp Erik's hand in a firm shake, before patting Erik on the back. If Amélie's mouth could have gone any wider, it would have hit the floor. This man knows Erik, knows him well enough to grasp his hand in a handshake? It had taken Amélie herself to long to get him accustomed to her touch. At the beginning, he had often flinched when she had brushed by him by accident, even though he was quite obviously a person who liked touch—the affectionate pat on his shoulder from Madame Giry, a warm hand squeeze from Amélie.

Erik was stiff as a board, but the fact that he had let the man touch him spoke volumes. "I—what brings you here, daroga?"

At that, the man's previously warm demeanour dropped tens of degrees. "I heard news of a kidnapping, Erik. Are you familiar with it, perhaps?" The daroga drew out a newspaper from within his robes, brandishing it at Erik. The news on the front page was that of Christine's disappearance from the opera house the night of her debut, chalked up to a kidnapping by the opera house's resident ghost.

"I know not what you speak of, daroga. Kidnapping?" Erik said stiffly, annoyance tingeing his words. "You came in search of me, after five years, simply to ask if I was involved in this? No, I have many more questions. How did you get here, and how did you know to find me here?"

The daroga held up his hand. "Those questions can be answered later, Erik. All I want to know is this—did you kidnap this girl? Kidnapping is a crime, and I will not permit you to terrorize young girls! You have committed a horrific act, and I must demand that you release the girl! You have not changed, Erik! Have you forgotten all your promises to me?"

Amélie's eyes narrowed. This man had no right to barge into Erik's house and accuse him of committing heinous crimes. She pushed open the door and stormed out. "Well, pardon me, monsieur, but Christine Daae was not kidnapped. She came quite willingly, I can assure you of that! How dare you come here uninvited and insult the owner of the house? You—"

"Amélie," said Erik warningly, though there was a touch of amusement in his voice. "Amélie, stop."

"No! I will not! Erik, who is this man? Why is he standing here in your house accusing you of committing crimes that you never even thought of doing?" Amélie demanded.

The daroga chuckled and bowed courteously. "Ah, we meet again, mademoiselle."

Amélie stared at him. "Well, I wish we never had met in the first place, monsieur!", she retorted rudely. "Now will either of you tell me who you are?"

"Amélie, please, go back into the room. The daroga and I have much to discuss." Erik began to steer her gently in the direction of the room. Amélie opened her mouth to protest, to insist that she be allowed to stay, but Erik shook his head before she had the chance to say anything. "Hush, Amélie. I will tell you everything later," he whispered in her ear. Reluctantly, Amélie let herself be guided into the room.

She scowled as she pressed herself against the door, attempting to make out what Erik was saying to the daroga, but all she could hear were hushed murmurs. She hated that Erik saw fit to keep her out of his discussion with this strange man.

When the sound of the daroga's footsteps echoed away, Amélie flung open the door of the room she was in. Erik was already waiting right before the door.

"That curious, are you?" He asked quizzically, holding out a hand to her. She took it, feeling the warmth of his large palm. He led her back to the divan, where she sat. He tucked the blanket back around her lap gently, and settled himself back into his chair.

"So, are you not going to tell me—"

"Would you like to hear a story, Amélie?" He asked suddenly. She blinked at him, surprised. When she caught his gaze, she found that it was filled with longing, bitterness, and sadness. She nodded her head.

A/N: Oh, yeah, a sort-of cliffie. I just can't break the habit! I think you guys can guess what's going to come next in the following chapter, anyway. Til next week, and as usual please read/review/fav/follow! xx hazel